Ruthless Knights (The Dark Elite 2)

My whole body trembles. I’m sitting on the couch, but my knees bounce up and down. I can’t keep still any more than the twins can. I blow out a breath, trying to calm the thoughts swirling in my mind. Zaid and Lucas are focused on working out theories, trying to come up with an explanation for the sudden death, but I can’t think about anything besides Hale.

The look on his face…

When he leaned over his father’s body, I saw something I never wanted to see. I saw myself in that same position, months ago, my world forever changed. I saw the blood splattered on my dress, on my face, the hot liquid cooling as it soaked my skin.

Pain.

I’ve never seen such raw pain in a person as I saw on Hale’s face tonight, but what breaks my heart more than anything was seeing it pushed away for duty, for the role that was just shoved upon him. Hale’s not going to get a break, he’s not going to be given time to grieve like a normal person. He’s going to have to bury his feelings so he can step up to the responsibilities of his new position.

And that’s just… fucked up.

I just want to go up to my room, crawl into bed and try to sleep away the nightmare, but I doubt Zaid or Lucas will leave my side until Hale gives them orders to. Hell, maybe not even then.

Damian Novak is dead.

My stomach rolls over and over again, replaying what happened in my head—Damian being shot, Hale’s cry for help, the chaos that followed. Worse, I can’t get rid of the thought that I’m somehow involved in this, that maybe that attack was meant to be another warning for me.

Damian had plenty of other enemies—people who wanted him dead. It might not have had anything to do with me.

I tell myself that, but the words feel hollow, even inside my own head.

Zaid’s phone rings, and he answers quickly as he stops pacing. Lucas freezes too, and I look up as Zaid listens for a moment, then murmurs something and hangs up.

“They weren’t able to pull anything from security footage.” He shakes his head, shoving the phone back in his pocket. He stripped off his jacket a while ago, and his tie is gone too. The top few buttons of his dress shirt are undone, and he’s rolled his sleeves up on his forearms. “Plates were gone, windows tinted. The surveillance videos were basically useless.”

“Were they able to get into city surveillance and figure out where the car went?” Lucas asks.

“They’re working on that now, but the car was abandoned pretty quickly,” he says. “A couple of Hale’s shots did enough damage that they had to dump it. And yes, before you ask, they already ran forensics on the car. Nothing.”

“Bastard knows how to cover his tracks.” Lucas starts pacing again. “This was planned.”

It’s what I’ve been thinking too, but I didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to speak it into existence. At this point, I’m not even sure what would be worse—Damian being a victim to one of the many common and brutal hit and runs in this city, or murdered in cold blood by one of his enemies.

“Whoever it is,” Lucas mutters, running a hand through his coppery blond hair, “Hale won’t stop until he finds them. None of us will. They aren’t gonna last much longer.”

“Do you know if there are connections to any of your rival gangs?” I ask, hesitating. I know it’s not my place to speak up, but I feel like I need to help in any way I can. “You’ve probably already considered that, but…”

I trail off, and Lucas and Zaid share a look.

Zaid speaks up first. “Yeah, we’ve considered it. But we have no evidence to tie it to any of our rivals. Nothing concrete. Damian didn’t stand for acts of violence just because someone may have acted against us, and I doubt Hale will either. Although…” He shakes his head. “I dunno. I’m not sure where his head’s at right now. He’s hurt, and he’s pissed. Maybe he won’t want to wait until we know for sure.”

A door slams somewhere in the house, and I’m so wound up that I jump about a foot in the air. Zaid and Lucas both tense, hands drifting toward their weapons. Footsteps echo on the polished floor as Hale storms in, Ciro right behind him.

Hale’s gaze finds mine as he steps into the room. He looks like a predator on the hunt with one thing on his mind, and I catch only a flicker of emotion in his deep blue eyes as he strides past Lucas and Zaid, roughly taking my wrist and pulling me up from the couch. Without a word of explanation from him, I follow. Ciro takes a step aside as Hale drags me out into the hallway.

He’s not being gentle. He’s not being soft. But I didn’t expect him to be.

My bare feet slap against the cool floor as I struggle to keep my shaky legs under me, keeping up with his pace.

Even though my wrist is still caught in a possessive hold, I follow him willingly.

Part of me needs this.

This is what I’ve been waiting for since the moment it happened. I’ve been waiting for the pain I saw inside him to explode, and I have a strange compulsion to be there when it does. No matter what happens.

He needs me, and in a way, I need him. We’re linked by more than the memories of our past now. We’re connected by a bond that two people should never have to share, by the twin experiences of seeing our fathers murdered in front of us. Specks of blood still stain Hale’s hands and face, although I can see that he’s washed most of it off.

My pulse accelerates as we take the stairs two at a time, then turn on the second floor landing. He’s taking me toward his room, not mine. The emotions that churn inside of him are infecting me too, pouring into me through the connection of our skin, consuming me like a burning flame.